Tom's Big Day
by Rocky T
Summary: Tom Paris is having one of those days...


_Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and all of its characters are the property of Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Time frame: mid-season 5, post "Bride of Chaotica!"  
  
Dedication: For Seema, on her own special day._  
  
**TOM'S BIG DAY  
By Rocky  
**   
Tom Paris was having a rotten day. That is, more rotten than other days on _Voyager_ since he'd been demoted in rank.   
  
That morning, the once-and-future ensign had slept through his alarm and had to scramble to get ready for his shift. No time for a shower, or a shave. He'd paused just long enough to glance in the mirror as he was pulling on his uniform and made the unsettling discovery that his hairline was continuing to recede. A high forehead was supposed to be a sign of intelligence, or so he'd always heard; at the rate he was going, he was in line to win both the Nobel Prize and the Cochrane Medal for Excellence sometime in the next few years.   
  
He leaned in closer, experimenting with different ways of combing the thinning strands--and promptly snagged the front panel of his trousers on the rough edge of the dresser. Attempting to free himself forcefully resulted in a loud ripping noise.  
  
Tom swore as he surveyed the hole in the fabric, located in a most inconvenient place. He strode over to the closet--tripping over his boots and an assortment of dirty dishes and PADDS and banging his shin--and flung the door open, looking for spare pants. But all he could find, aside from a couple of decidedly non-regulation outfits, was a pair of Starfleet-issue sweats and a dress uniform at least two sizes too small. His other uniforms were lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed, or else in the (uncycled) refresher unit.   
  
He hesitated a moment, wondering what to do. He had no replicator credits till the end of the month, so ordering a new pair of pants was out. Maybe the sweats--no, he could just see Tuvok's face if he reported for duty out of uniform. The dress pants would have to do.  
  
Five minutes later, after wrestling with the too-small waistband, Tom sagged against the wall, ready to concede defeat. He picked up the torn pants once more. Maybe if he hunched over slightly as he walked, no one would notice the gaping hole in his crotch. And at least he'd be sitting down for his shift.  
  
Another glance at the chronometer told him he was well and truly late now. No time for a real breakfast, but he'd grab a piece of toast and eat en route to the bridge. He jammed the bread into the toaster while he hunted for the jar of peanut butter and a (more or less) clean knife. Neither item was to be seen amidst the clutter on the table, but maybe he'd find something in one of the desk drawers.  
  
The smell of something burning caught his attention. He looked up to see copious amounts of black smoke pouring out of the top of the toaster. Tom instinctively made a grab for the toaster, then promptly dropped it. "Arrgh!" Doing his best to ignore the searing pain, he swept up a pillow off the couch and attempted to smother the smoking appliance.  
  
His comm badge chirped. "Bridge to Ensign Paris."  
  
"Dammit! Uh, Paris here." Tom stuck his burned fingers in his mouth while surveying the damage. It appeared the fire was out; at any rate no new smoke was rising from either the toaster or the pillow.  
  
"Paris, your shift--" Chakotay's voice began.  
  
"Shit! Sorry, Commander! I'll be right there!" Tom yelled. "Paris out." Casting a last glance over his shoulder, hoping nothing else would combust in his absence, he ran out the door.  
  
It wasn't until he was in the turbolift that he remembered that today was his birthday.  
  


* * *

  
On the bridge, Tuvok raised an eyebrow at Tom's somewhat disheveled appearance, but didn't say anything. Tom felt a surge of relief, until he glanced at the other bridge stations. The captain's chair was empty, but the seat at the helm position was not. Ensign Culhane was ensconced there, looking entirely too comfortable for Tom's taste.  
  
"You'll be working this shift in sickbay instead of on the bridge, Ensign Paris," Chakotay said when he looked up and noticed the new arrival. "That's what I called earlier to tell you," he added pointedly.  
  
"Why the change?" Tom asked warily. "I've already done my Sickbay shifts for the week."  
  
"The Doctor requested your services--apparently he's got a heavy workload for the day and can really use your help." Tom groaned inwardly. Was it time for the crew physicals again? Chakotay continued, "And as the only interesting thing happening today is our going through a class S nebula, we really don't need you at the conn."  
  
A class S nebula! He'd always wanted the chance to pilot a ship through one of those! Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Chakotay cut him off. "Besides, Ensign Culhane could use the additional experience, if he's going to have the opportunity to advance in rank."  
  
It was on the tip of Tom's tongue to say, "But what about _my_ rank?" He fingered his single pip nervously, but decided to keep silent.  
  
Just then, Chakotay's comm badge chirped. "Janeway to Chakotay."  
  
"Yes, Captain?"  
  
"Report to my Ready Room immediately--I need you for some personal, er, personnel matters."  
  
"Yes, ma'am!" Tom caught a glimpse of a lascivious grin on the first officer's face as Chakotay eagerly hurried in the direction of the captain's office. Tom shook his head in bafflement. Who'd think a guy could get so excited at the prospect of working on reports?  
  
Tom stood helplessly for a moment, but then a look from Tuvok--which came to rest just below his waist--reminded him of the state of his uniform; he wondered if exposing oneself on the bridge was a class A felony. He hastily beat a retreat to the turbolift, but paused a moment by the Ops station. "Harry? You got a minute?"  
  
Harry didn't even look up. "Sorry, Tom, but I'm running a Level Two diagnostic and can't talk now."  
  
"Mr. Paris, I believe the Doctor is waiting for you," added Tuvok. "You do not wish to be later than you already are."  
  
Feeling even more dejected than he had previously, Tom entered the 'lift.  
  


* * *

  
It was a long morning in Sickbay. The Doctor had him performing menial tasks such as alphabetizing the contents of the drug cabinet and cleaning instruments, and Tom was going out of his mind with boredom. The Doctor's incessant singing of opera arias--handling both the soprano and tenor parts with equal aplomb--was also making him nuts. For all the claim of a 'heavy workload', it was just the two of them--long before noon, Tom would have given anything for the distraction of a patient, even a hangnail to treat. The only saving grace of being in Sickbay was that he was able to snag a lab coat and cover up his crotch. Finally, the Doctor grudgingly allowed him to go for a late lunch.  
  
Tom got to the Mess Hall just in time to see B'Elanna on her way out. "Hey there!" he greeted her eagerly.   
  
Her response was less than enthusiastic. "Oh. Tom. What are you doing here?"  
  
He leaned in closer and flashed her a winning smile. "I thought we could have lunch--but I guess you've finished eating already?"  
  
She took a step back and said distractedly, "I barely had time for a sandwich--I've got to get back to Engineering. Seven's been tinkering with the warp drive again, trying to improve its efficiency. Which means _nothing_ is working properly at the moment."  
  
He nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I can understand." He caught her arm as she turned to go. "Just a minute, before you dash off."  
  
"Tom, I really have to go."  
  
"I understand," he said soothingly, "but I want to talk to you about plans for this evening--"  
  
"I'm sorry, Tom, but I've got to work late tonight," B'Elanna said stiffly.   
  
"But I really wanted--"  
  
"_Some_ people on this ship have a sense of priorities," she cut in. "Right now, mine are the engines. Sorry, Tom, but you can't always get what you want."  
  
He watched her stride down the hall, then squared his shoulders and went into the Mess Hall. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't had any breakfast that morning. Maybe he'd feel better after he ate something.   
  
His mood brightened a bit as he spotted Harry at a table in the corner. Tom quickly grabbed a tray and pushed his way to the front of the now-thinning lunchtime crowd.  
  
"What'll it be, Tom?" asked Neelix cheerfully. He was wearing a new mauve chef's hat that clashed horribly with his pink and green tunic and brown checkered apron.  
  
"What've you got?" Tom asked, picking up a blue sphere from the counter and biting into it. He grimaced at the feel of the tart pulp against his teeth. He surreptitiously glanced around for some place to stow the rest of the fruit without Neelix noticing.  
  
"You have a choice between leftover leola root stew or pleeka rind casserole."  
  
"That's it?" Tom said, disappointed.   
  
"You could always replicate something else if you want," Neelix reminded him. Tom grimaced, but accepted a dollop of casserole while thinking longingly of pizza--or mac and cheese. But he knew better than to expect Neelix to concoct anything cheese-based--the ship's systems were in enough trouble as it was.   
  
"New fashion statement?" Harry commented as Tom sat down across from him.   
  
Tom self-consciously fingered his white lab coat, not especially eager to explain why he was wearing it. "B'Elanna sometimes wears a smock and no one bats an eye," he said defensively.   
  
"Yeah, but B'Elanna wears hers for a purpose," Harry pointed out.   
  
Tom hastily changed the subject. "So, Har, what do you say--you and I get together at the Holodeck this evening, when our shifts are over, and play chapter twenty four of 'Captain Proton'?"  
  
Harry patted his lips with a napkin, then crumpled it into a ball and placed it on his tray. "Sorry, Tom, but I've already got plans for this evening."  
  
"Really? With who?" Tom blurted out in astonishment. At the look on Harry's face, he said hastily, "I didn't mean that the way it came out--"  
  
Harry nodded coolly. "What do you think, Tom, that I've got no social life?"  
  
Attempting to lighten the mood, Tom said, "Well, based on your track record--" He stopped abruptly when he realized he'd _really_ put his foot in his mouth now. "Harry, I didn't mean--"   
  
Without a further word, Harry picked up his tray and went off in a huff. Tom looked at his own lunch and sighed. Some birthday this was turning out to be.  
  


* * *

  
The afternoon, if possible, was even longer than the morning, with more scut work. At last released from the Doctor's clutches--and burdened with a pile of journal reading to brush up on some of his medical techniques before his next Sickbay shift--Tom made his way to his cabin.   
  
Tossing the PADDS onto the coffee table, he sighed at the mess in the rest of the room, and wrinkled his nose at the faint odor of smoke still clearly discernible in the air. He went into the bedroom and thankfully peeled off his uniform, remembering this time to activate the refresher so he'd have clothes to wear tomorrow. After a long and luxuriant shower, he put on something casual--tan slacks and a sky blue shirt which matched his eyes--and slipped on his snakeskin boots.  
  
"Computer, confirm Holodeck time for Ensign Paris this evening." He'd reserved the time slot several days in advance, counting on a romantic evening with B'Elanna to celebrate his birthday. When she'd bailed on him earlier in the day, he'd thought to spend the time with Harry instead. But since Harry couldn't make it either, Tom figured he'd just go and enjoy some 'Captain Proton' on his own. Or else work in his 'Grease Monkey' program.   
  
*_There is no holodeck time scheduled for Ensign Paris this evening_,* the Computer intoned.  
  
"What?" Tom said, puzzled, as he picked up his leather 'Captain Proton' jacket. "That can't be right."  
  
*_There is no holodeck time scheduled for Ensign Paris this evening_,* the mechanical voice repeated helpfully.  
  
"I reserved ninety minutes, starting at twenty hundred hours, last week!" Tom said, outraged.   
  
*_That reservation has been overridden and the time allotted to someone else_.*   
  
"Oh, yeah? By whom?"  
  
*_That information is not available at present_.*  
  
Tom stormed out of his quarters and headed toward the holodeck anyway, figuring there must be some glitch with the scheduling protocols. Hopefully, it wouldn't take very long to clear up.   
  
He ran into Tuvok in the corridor. "Ensign," the Vulcan said, nodding gravely. Tom couldn't help but notice the way Tuvok's glance darted below his waist.   
  
Tom involuntarily took a quick look himself to make sure there weren't any holes in his pants. Relieved, he said, "So, Tuvok, where are you heading?"  
  
"I am going to the holodeck," Tuvok said. Tom realized belatedly Tuvok was wearing ornate flowing robes instead of his usual uniform.  
  
"You've got a reservation for this evening?" Tom asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes, ninety minutes, beginning at twenty hundred hours."  
  
"But--" Tom broke off. It would never do to accuse the Chief of Security of stealing his holodeck time. Instead, Tom said, a little too casually, "Anything in particular you wanted to run? I mean, in terms of holoprograms?"  
  
"I have wished to utilize my Temple of T'Panit program for some time."   
  
"Uh, Tuvok, I don't think that's such a good idea," Tom said. Any thought of joining Tuvok's holo-pursuits vanished. But maybe if he played his cards right, he could inveigle Tuvok into giving up some of his time. Even fifteen minutes of 'Captain Proton' or 'Sandrine's' would do him good, Tom felt.   
  
Tuvok fixed him with a penetrating glance. "Ensign, if you are trying to prevent me from discovering the tampering that you perpetrated earlier--substituting the monks' robes with beachwear from Neelix's resort program--you will be happy to know that I have already taken measures to restore the Temple program to its original state."  
  
Tom nodded miserably. So much for asking Tuvok for any favors.  
  
Tuvok halted, and Tom realized they were outside the holodeck. "You may wish to verify for yourself that everything inside is in perfect working order." The Vulcan gestured for Tom to enter before him. Feeling utterly ridiculous, Tom took a deep breath as the doors opened and then crossed the threshold.  
  
"Surprise!" rang out a chorus of voices. "Happy birthday, Tom!"  
  
Stunned, Tom saw a crowd of his fellow crewmembers, in the black and white setting of the 'Captain Proton' program. The Fortress of Doom, to be exact. "What's going on?" he asked.  
  
Harry Kim, dressed in his Buster Kincaid outfit, laughed at the expression on Tom's face and thrust a drink into his hand. "It's your birthday party, you idiot! Did you think we'd forgotten?"  
  
"Uh--"  
  
"We really fooled you but good," chimed in Neelix, who had exchanged his chef's hat for an even more garish party hat.  
  
"We sure did," agreed Harry. "You should have seen how disappointed you were when I told you I already had plans for this evening. Pretty good fake out, huh?"   
  
Tom wisely kept his mouth shut, and just smiled and nodded. He downed his drink in one gulp, feeling it burn pleasantly on the way down.  
  
He'd just taken a bite of a pale green hors d'oeuvre that tasted vaguely fishy when Chakotay and Janeway came up to him. Chakotay was wearing his Maquis leather pants and vest--with no shirt underneath. The real eye-opener, however, was the captain. Janeway was wearing her Arachnia dress with the plunging neckline, but (thankfully) without the Spider Queen's wig and makeup. She looked even better than she did the first time she'd worn the gown, as she'd let her hair down now, literally as well as figuratively. Janeway was holding a half-empty margarita in one hand, and snagged another drink off the passing Satan's Robot (who was carrying a tray of glasses) as Tom watched.   
  
"Happy Birthday, Tom!" Janeway said, a bit more exuberantly than was her wont, and then threw her arms around him and planted him one on the lips, kissing him till he was breathless.   
  
Tom was too stunned to react--even if he'd had sufficient oxygen. Fortunately, Chakotay, ever the helpful first officer, gently pried the Captain off of him and held her upright. "Easy does it, Kathryn."   
  
She beamed at them both and inadvertently splashed some of her drink on Chakotay. "Just wanted to wish my favorite pilot a wonderful time!"  
  
Tom grinned. "Uh, thank you for the good wishes." He paused. "Of course, to make this birthday especially memorable, there _is_ something you could give me, Captain--"  
  
Chakotay swiftly interrupted. "Not on your life, Paris." He maneuvered Janeway to face the other way and said, "Let's go get you another drink, Kathryn. You look positively parched."  
  
As Chakotay led her off, Tom heard the captain say, "A drink--how lovely of you, my angry warrior. I haven't had a margarita in _ages_!"  
  
"I was just going to ask her for another pip," Tom said innocently.  
  
Harry dolefully shook his head. "I already tried that, but nothing doing."  
  
Tom thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the evening, Neelix's hors d'oeuvres and creative uses of jello not withstanding. He got a real kick out of watching the various holodeck characters intermingle with the _Voyager_ crew. Off to one side, Neelix and Lonzak, Chaotica's henchman, were involved in an animated chat. The Delaneys, dressed as the Twin Mistresses of Evil, Demonica and Malicia, were exchanging gibes with Ayala and Dalby. The Doctor was proudly showing off his 'President of Earth' badge to an admiring Naomi Wildman and her mother. Even Seven had gotten into the act, and was dressed as Constance Goodheart. Tom broke into a laugh as he overheard her threatening to assimilate Chaotica if he didn't leave her alone--"I have already stated that I do not wish for you to show me your Death Ray. You will cease this activity immediately!" Yes, almost everyone was there, having a good time--  
  
Except B'Elanna.   
  
Try as he might, Tom didn't see her anywhere. He guessed she really did mean it when she'd said she had to work late. He knew she didn't like playing on the Holodeck and generally had little patience for his various programs and flights of fantasy. But he'd have thought she'd make an exception for his birthday.   
  
All too soon, the party wound down and people began to leave. Tom grinned at the sight of Harry departing in the company of the Twin Mistresses of Evil and then headed for his own quarters. Alone. He took a deep breath. It had turned out to be a better birthday that he'd anticipated, but he couldn't help but wish--  
  
He broke off his train of thought when he stepped across the threshold of his cabin. In contrast to the way he'd left them earlier, his quarters were now clean and neat, the only odor coming from the scented pink candles on the table. There was soft music playing, and a silver wine cooler waited nearby, next to a pair of crystal champagne flutes. And best of all, a slender figure stood silhouetted in the doorway of the bedroom.   
  
"B'Elanna?" he said softly.  
  
"Were you expecting someone else?" she asked, gliding over to him and slipping her arms around his neck. She was wearing a midnight-blue negligee, laced up the front, which showed off her long legs. "Happy birthday," she murmured in his ear.   
  
He kissed her before answering. "I missed you earlier. I was afraid I wasn't going to see you tonight."  
  
She smiled. "Even though I missed the party, I still wouldn't miss your birthday celebration, Tom. Didn't you realize that?"  
  
"I'm beginning to see."   
  
Her fingers plucked at the buttons on his shirt, then slid enticingly down his chest. "I've always loved this shirt on you," she said, "But right now I don't think you'll be needing it."  
  
He smiled in return. "Does this mean you have a special birthday present for me, B'Elanna?" he asked teasingly.  
  
"Yes," she said, pulling away from him. "But you'll have to unwrap it first."  
  
Tom paused only long enough to grab the champagne bottle and glasses before following her into the bedroom.  
  
_FINIS  
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